Covering Hurricanes

By Scott Libin

"I'm an evacuee and I think, according to the federal government, I'm a refugee."
-- Jeff Myers, M.D., of Tulane Hospital in New Orleans, on NPR's "Morning Edition"

"The people we're talking about are not refugees... They are Americans."
-- President George W. Bush

"It is racist to call American citizens refugees."
-- Rev. Jesse Jackson

When President Bush and Jesse Jackson come down on the same side of an argument, it's tempting to conclude that the matter is settled. 

If so, then the brief debate in newsrooms over the word "refugee" might end just as a scramble among dictionary editors begins. Until now, no dictionary I can find excludes Americans from the definition of "refugee," and none indicates that use of the word for American citizens reflects racism.

Still, there is no debate that, in the context of Katrina coverage, some pretty prominent people find the word offensive. It's a safe bet that others who are less prominent do too. Why use such a word, when alternatives that offend no one –- so far, at least -– are available?

How should newsrooms decide which words are off limits? Is it only when someone in a position of power complains? How many angry readers, viewers or listeners does it take? If editors and news managers defer to such demands, where do they draw the line on future decisions about language?

In the same context, consider the question of the word "looting," once thought to be fairly straightforward in its meaning. Katrina has us asking tough questions about what once seemed an easy call: Does a hurricane victim who feeds his children with food from the shelves of a flooded, abandoned store deserve the same label as someone who breaks into a home and wades away with jewelry and electronics?

Newsrooms across the country have wrestled with this one too for several days. Some are now revising restrictions only a few days old, as the story continues to change.

There is plenty of precedent for such debates. 

In 1996 here in St. Petersburg, Fla., after a police officer shot a motorist who had no gun, angry people in one neighborhood threw rocks and bottles, destroyed several vehicles and set fire to numerous buildings. Nine years later, my Poynter colleagues and I still don't agree on whether what happened that night was a riot. Some believe that word has racial overtones. 

As with "refugee," the dictionary definition of "riot" offers no support for that position. Still, knowing some people read into it a racial message, is it the best choice of words? In fact, is the dictionary -– any dictionary –- the ultimate arbiter of such disputes?

The same Bush administration that takes umbrage at the word "refugee" tells us often that we are at war, and that American forces are holding many of our most dangerous enemies at Guantanamo Bay in a facility that works a lot like a prison. However, the administration insists, these people are not prisoners of war but "detainees" and "enemy combatants." The government has gone to court over that very argument. 

Does that settle it for everybody? Should we look to the courts for guidance on diction in journalism?

In the short time since the "refugee" debate began, I have seen references to definitions used by the Homeland Security Administration and the United Nations High Command for Refugees. Is everybody comfortable letting a federal agency or the UN establish what we mean? If so, I'm certain there are any number of law-enforcement, regulatory and other official bodies ready to regulate our language for us. And that doesn't even take into account the various interest groups who are eager to set us straight on the words we use in reference to their issues. 

I see no easy answers to any of these questions, but I believe they are worth discussing and debating in our newsrooms, because such challenges will keep coming.

I don't think we should be too quick to ban language just because someone with a political agenda disapproves of our wording and scolds us for it. I do think we should be willing to take a good hard look at what we say, and to ask if it's the best way to express what we mean. That means reserving the right to use language we believe best serves our readers, viewers and listeners. It also means being accountable for those decisions and willing to discuss them. 

It is reflexive for many of us to defend our choice of words by pointing out that we intend no harm, and that we can neither control the way others interpret things nor please all of the people all of the time. Still, we wince when we hear an older person innocently use terms that were acceptable and even polite for three-quarters of a century -– and we wish there were an acceptable, polite way to correct her. 

Words come and go, of course. I still have trouble believing "it sucks" belongs in courteous conversation about anything but vacuums, but there's no denying that some words gain acceptability just as others lose it. 

The question then is not whether we should adapt our language, but how and when we adapt. Many media organizations will take the path of least resistance, which is not always a bad idea. On the other hand, it doesn't qualify as reasoning and reflection of the highest ethical order. As the flood waters recede and the adrenaline rush subsides, it's worth taking the time to examine how your newsroom makes such decisions, and to figure out how to explain them -– because if you can't articulate your reasons, a distrusting public will come up with its own explanation, and no journalist will find it flattering.